


Wait and See

by mybabystriders



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: M/M, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 12:54:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8668369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mybabystriders/pseuds/mybabystriders
Summary: Every eighth-year has to come up with a spell, and it isn't easy to do alone. Somehow, Baz manages it and can't wait to show Simon.





	

Baz sat on his bed and flipped through his Shakespeare collection, searching for something powerful - it needed to stand out. He had dogeared some of his favorite sonnets a long time ago in the old, hardcover book. The pages were worn around the edges and the spine was cracked and frayed, ready to give way to time. The book still smelled like new, fine paper. It was a work of art.

This searching was part of an eighth-year assignment: coming up with a new spell. In order for it to be useful, it had to be meaningful to people. It also had to be beyond a fad, otherwise, it would lose its power within a month or so. Song lyrics were out of the question then, unless it was Elvis or a well-known Christmas tune. It had to have some resonance. 

That’s why Baz was looking through Shakespeare. His words always stuck, more often than others at least. As he flipped through a few pages, his eye was caught by an underlined verse.

_ To me, fair friend, you never can be old.  _

_ For as you were when first your eye I ey’d,  _

_ Such seems your beauty still. _

                                                                                                -Sonnet CIV

That could be a wonderful healing spell, or perhaps turn back time on whatever or whomever it was cast on. Maybe not. It would have to be said right, and translating Shakespeare could be tricky. Luckily, Baz was used to the English and its true meaning.

He turned his hand over and inspected it. He didn’t have many injuries, but he had a papercut from last week. The skin still wasn’t completely healed. As he drew out his wand, his eyes lingered on the other half of the room. It was empty. 

Simon had chosen not to finish this year due to everything that had happened. Baz couldn’t blame him. Considering Simon was no longer a mage, coming back to the school would be difficult. Still, it got lonely in the tower, and there were many nights that he couldn’t sleep. If this worked, he’d have no immediate person to share it with. Maybe he could use it on Simon, to rid of his tail and wings.

Baz smirked, getting to his feet. Perhaps, he thought, he should try the spell on something else first- for the sake of his own safety. A rat from the catacombs would be best.

He went to the window of the room and threw it open, breathing in the spring air. The air was warm. Summer was getting close and he could practically feel Simon’s warm hands on his. He could smell his soap, his deodorant. He remembered the night they spent kissing on his bedroom floor, not thinking about anything other than each other and the way their lips felt. Simon had been so warm, so soft, and so beautiful. Simon.

“ **On love’s light wings.** ” 

That spell could take a lot of magic, but tonight it felt easier as Baz floated gently to the ground below. Maybe it was because he was longing for Simon so deeply - that’s definitely what it was.

The walk through the catacombs was long and quite eerie. He had a stash of dead rats down here, and the outline had become a memorized pattern. As he walked, Baz lit the torches along the walls, glad for the warmth they provided in the dark, damp underground. He heard rats squeaking along, but he wanted to try his spell on a rat that he had killed 24 hours ago or longer. If it didn’t work on old injuries, it probably wouldn’t work at all. He wanted something powerful, too. All it had to do was heal up the wound, nothing more.

As Baz approached the rats, he drew up his magic - just like lighting a match. He thought about the words. He imagined seeing someone as if they were unchanged, as if time could never touch them. He breathed in.

“ _ To me, fair friend, you never can be old.  _

_ For as you were when first your eye I ey’d,  _

_ Such seems your beauty still.” _

He put as much magic into the spell as he could. Nothing happened. He picked up a few rats and inspected their limp bodies. Nothing had changed. He tried the spell again, and again. He did it over and over until he was positive that nothing would work.

The sonnet probably wasn’t well known enough. How could it be? Not everyone knew Shakespeare that well. Baz sighed.

He turned his back on the rats and walked away, finally feeling tired, and began following his lit path back to the entrance. He kicked a few pebbles along the path, listening to the sound they made as the bounced along the stone and the dirt. At some point, one accidently stirred a few rats who were squabbling. They did that occasionally over food, or something along those lines. One of them was biting the other, while the rest loudly squealed It was a nuisance, they were giving him a headache.

Suddenly, Baz thought of something. He’d picked up a few American classics over the previous break. Great Gatsby had been one of the better ones that summer. He had been reading through, thinking of phrases that stood out for precisely the reason he was down here tonight. He wanted to get ahead and impress everyone with his created spell. He had underlined the line “beautiful little fool” spoken by Daisy Buchanan. At the time, he was thinking that it might work extremely well for this project. However, over the span of two years, he’d forgotten completely.

Once again, Baz drew his wand from his pocket. He felt the magic rise to his fingers like sparks. He licked his lips.

“ **Beautiful little fool!** ”

The spell shot off like a rocket in the underground and sent the rats flying in opposite directions. When they stood back up, they looked confused. Even more surprising, their fur had turned a platinum blonde color - just like Daisy and her daughter’s hair.

“Bless American literature classes,” Baz muttered. The book would be well and alive for decades, most likely. It was like Shakespeare, in a way. It would forever be on the classics list. The line was powerful!

He couldn’t wait to show Simon.


End file.
